More Than Admiration
by Comfster
Summary: After the curtain falls, Blaine pays Jesse a visit. Blesse.


_**More Than Admiration**_

**Pairing: **Blesse

**Warnings: **Future!fic, mild dirty talk, top!Jesse/bottom!Blaine, explicit slash, PWP, language.

**Disclaimer: **I am in no way affiliated with Glee or FOX. These characters aren't mine, I am obviously not doing this for moolah.

**Summary: **After the curtain falls, Blaine pays Jesse a visit.

**Notes: **Written for Ria on Tumblr who wanted Blesse. :)

Blaine and Jesse go to the same university in this. Their school is doing _The Producers_; Jesse plays Roger DeBris and Blaine plays Carmen Ghia. Neither of those are too important, and you do not have to know anything about _The Producers_ to read this.

Enjoy =)

##

It is so simple; all Blaine has to do is reach out and knock against the door labeled _Jesse St. James_ and wait for an answer, but right now, it seems like the hardest thing he's ever had to do.

His heartbeat is banging like a gong; his hands that clutch a simple bouquet of Jesse's favorite flowers are clammy and trembling. Blaine would like to think that the reason he's so anxious is only because it was opening night of their school's production of _The Producers_, and he just walked off the stage only twenty or so minutes ago, but that's not it. He's jittery because he has this stupid schoolboy crush on Jesse that he cannot seem to overcome no matter how many times he sees Jesse flirt with other guys in the hallways before rehearsals, or whenever he purposefully muffs up a kiss with some handsome actor just so they have to re-do it. Blaine really did hope that seeing Jesse in a floor-length ball gown for his role as Roger DeBris for the musical, complete with a red wig and a huge gleaming crown would finally do him in, but alas, the confidence that Jesse had while wearing that ghastly thing only made Blaine more attracted to him.

He still doesn't get what it _is _about Jesse that gets him going like he's in middle school again. Jesse's so full of himself that Blaine's not even sure how he can function from day to day; he says whatever is on his mind no matter how brutal or crude, and he pretty much defines words like pompous, egotistical, narcissistic—the list could go on and on.

But despite all Jesse's flaws, Blaine still sees some good in him; it's in the way that Jesse's the most determined person he knows, the way that he isn't too proud to help a fellow classmate for the betterment of their productions, the way a satisfied little smile plays at his lips whenever he's really nailed a song.

Blaine still doesn't know when he went from admiring Jesse for his talent to actually having feelings for him.

If only Jesse felt the same way Blaine does.

He cannot stand outside the door any longer, holding the flowers to his chest while nervous cold sweat glistens around his temples. Blaine takes a deep breath, reaches out, and knocks on the door.

"Come in," Jesse calls out from inside the room.

Blaine gathers up every single ounce of confidence he has, opens the door, and slinks into Jesse's dressing room. "Hi," Blaine says in a soft voice, hiding the bouquet of flowers behind his back as he walks up to Jesse who is sitting in front of his vanity, removing his stage makeup.

Jesse peers over at him from the corner of his eye. "I figured it'd be you," Jesse says nonchalantly, smiling slightly at Blaine through his mirror as he swipes his cotton pad wet with remover over his forehead.

"You were," Blaine starts, but his voice is a little tense and high-pitched. He clears his throat and tries again, "You were really great tonight."

"You don't have to tell me that," Jesse says sarcastically, tossing his now beige-colored cotton pad into the trash. "But thanks." He turns on his stool a bit to look at Blaine and his brows furrow. "What do you have behind your back?"

Color rises up in Blaine's cheeks as he shuffles a bit closer to Jesse and sits down on the stool right beside him. "For you," he says softly, bringing the bouquet out from behind his back, holding it out for Jesse to take.

Jesse looks down at the flowers, his face virtually unreadable, and his eyes wide. "Oh," is all Jesse can manage as he takes the bouquet from Blaine, his eyes never leaving the beautiful blossomed flowers. "Thanks, Blaine."

Perhaps it's just the blasé thank you or how Blaine has always just thought about what he wants to do and never actually does it, but this time he acts—does what his heart yearns for, what he's been waiting to do since his freshman year here at this university when he met Jesse on his first day of college. Blaine snakes his hand around to cup the nape of Jesse's neck before he leans in over the bouquet, closing the space between them.

Jesse's lips are soft, just as Blaine expects them to be since he always seems to have lip balm handy. They are warm and inviting, the way sunshine splashes on skin in the summertime, and Blaine relishes in every single glorious minute of it, making sure that the feeling of kissing Jesse will not be easily forgotten because he's not sure if he'll ever have the opportunity to do it again.

"What was that for?" Jesse asks once Blaine pulls away, his mouth still close enough that Blaine feels Jesse's words on his skin when he speaks.

"Uh..." Blaine's face feels like it's on fire, and his throat is so tight that swallowing even seems like a difficult feat. "I, um, just…for uh, for doing so well tonight. Yeah. That." It's a horrid excuse, one that Blaine knows Jesse won't buy, but it's all he's got.

Jesse stares at him long and hard; he's completely still, and Blaine looks down to avoid making the situation more uncomfortable than it already is. Blaine wishes that he could just disappear into the carpeted floor or into the nearest wall just so he wouldn't have to sit in front of Jesse any longer, who was still holding the bouquet in his hands, and no doubt giving him a look so strange it could rival even the most grotesque of faces.

He turns to place the flowers down on a nearby table where about a dozen other more extravagant bouquets lay. "Don't you think my performance was deserving of more than just one kiss?" Jesse asks.

Blaine stares at him, unsure of what just happened. "What?"

"Oh, for goodness sakes," Jesse says, grabbing Blaine by the wrist. In a few short moments, several things happen at once: Jesse hauls Blaine off his feet, slides off some of the junk on his vanity not caring whether or not it would survive the fall to the floor, lifts Blaine up, and sets him down on top of his vanity, Blaine's back pressing against the lit mirror.

And this time, Jesse's lips find Blaine's while his hands roam down along the planes of his chest, spreading his thighs apart to settle in between them. He can't quite hear Blaine's heartbeat, but man, can he _feel _it pumping against his body, quick and excited.

Blaine's eyes are still open, wide as a doe's because he cannot believe that Jesse's kissing him, that his hands are the ones touching him, that it's Jesse's hips that Blaine's legs are wrapped around. The sounds he makes against Jesse's mouth are more than a little embarrassing; startled little pants and whines until he finally finds it in him to relax, close his eyes, and just go with it. Everything about it feels like a true first kiss all over again; Blaine imagines fireworks erupting, and his stomach twists with anticipation.

He can feel Jesse's fingers at the hem of his shirt, getting a good grasp on it before he lifts it up slowly; revealing stripes of olive skin till it's finally off completely. Jesse's hot breath makes his skin tingle and he squirms beneath him as he tries to toe off his shoes, allowing them to fall to the floor with dull thuds.

"I've known all along that you want me," Jesse says proudly into the crook of Blaine's neck, pressing his palms to Blaine's bare torso, bringing them down, down, _down _until his fingers brush over the button of Blaine's pants. When Jesse looks up at him, his eyes are dark, his pupils blown, his face etched with sheer confidence. "I'm right, aren't I?"

They both know that's a question that doesn't really need to be asked.

Blaine instinctively lifts his hips up a little bit off the vanity, gripping the edge so hard that his knuckles turn white. His mouth is too dry and his throat is too tense to form sensible words so he just nods, his cheeks rosy red. Of course he's wanted Jesse all this time—who in their right mind _didn't_? Yeah, maybe he's a asshole, maybe he thinks he's God's gift to the world, maybe his hands are a little too rough as he undoes the front of Blaine's pants, but all of that is so insubstantial—it doesn't affect a single goddamn thing in Blaine's mind.

Jesse runs his tongue up the column of Blaine's neck. "Did you lose your pretty little voice?" he asks, hitching his fingers past the waistband of Blaine's pants and briefs, and when Blaine lifts his hips up again, Jesse pulls the clothes down in one swift motion, loving the way Blaine shivers when the heated flesh between his legs is completely exposed.

"I'm—I'm…" Blaine stammers, unable to finish; his brain is shot because he cannot believe that this is happening—that he's not just imaging this like the hundreds of other times he daydreamed about Jesse doing all kinds of nasty and fantastic things to him.

Now he doesn't have to think it all up on his own anymore.

When Jesse presses against him and the fabric of his clothes rub against his skin, Blaine feels like he's going to lose it before they've even gotten started. "_Please_," he manages to whine, his eyes closed tightly as he bites down on his lower lip, his toes curling under. Jesse's hands linger down his sides to his ass, squeezing his round cheeks hard enough to leave ten red marks that Blaine hopes will still be there in the morning.

Jesse slides one of his fingers into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it to lather it up before he pulls it out slowly, looking at Blaine all the while. "Please what?" he asks, his voice slow and a little husky. He brings his finger down in between Blaine's legs and smears the saliva over his puckered entrance, moving so slowly that it was tantalizing. Jesse pushes his fingertip past Blaine's tight ring of muscle, penetrating it to the depth of his knuckle. "Say it."

Blaine whines as his feet press against the backs of Jesse's calves. The touch is searing and Jesse's relentless. "Pl-Please just…" he starts, but his words drop off when he feels a second finger joining the first, curving like a hook and Blaine's thighs begin to quiver around Jesse's body. The lights that frame the mirror of Jesse's vanity are still on, his makeup splayed over the counter; Blaine wonders how many other guys have been in Jesse's room like this or if he's the only one that was ever lucky enough. He knows Jesse's at least done this before, he's had to, because the way his fingers move, how they spread and curl and move in and out at a pace that makes Blaine's head spin—unless, of course, Jesse's talented in every aspect of his life.

"I'm waiting," he almost growls into Blaine's ear before he swipes his tongue over the lobe and catches it in his warm mouth.

"Oh fuck—yes, God, yes…please fuck _please_," Blaine spews out, his hand snaking to wrap around Jesse's waist to pull him close. "Fuck me, fuck me, _fuck_ me."

And that's good enough for Jesse.

Blaine whimpers when Jesse pulls away from him, but his eyes grow wide when he sees Jesse yank his shirt off over his head and push his pants down to around his mid-thighs. Jesse spits in his hand, spreading the saliva over his cock before he positions himself at Blaine's entrance.

Jesse breaches him, sinking in and Blaine howls and snarls behind clenched teeth as his nails dig into Jesse's back; it's a searing burn of glory, hard, unyielding, nearly too much for him to handle, and Blaine thinks he just might die from the ecstasy of that. Jesse sheathes himself in completely, then pulls out and does it again, and Blaine can hear Jesse's hoarse whispering, "You like this? You like this, you little needy, cock-hungry slut?" before he presses his lips to the juncture where Blaine's neck meets his shoulder, starting to thrust into him remorselessly, not caring much that some of his stage makeup that cost him a fortune falls from his vanity with every persistent movement he makes.

His hands travel down the length of Jesse's body till he presses the heels of his palms against Jesse's ass, pushing him closer and Blaine babbles a slew of senseless words that he never thought would escape his lips, all _yes, yes please more _and_ fuck me harder, yes God please _and_ I am yours, all yours, your slut, please_. And he doesn't even bother trying to disguise the way his hips rise up wantonly, trying desperately to meet Jesse's thrusts.

"You've wanted this ever since we fucking _met_, haven't you?" Jesse asks as he wraps his hand around the base of Blaine's throbbing cock, squeezes and strokes up. "Always staring at me, always wanting duets, you didn't want the role of Carmen Ghia until you heard I was playing Roger, isn't that right?"

"_Yes_," Blaine wails, his lips separate as delicious little moans work their way up his tight throat.

"Wished that I would fuck you into the stage during all our private rehearsals, didn't you? That's why you wanted to have them every single day, isn't it? And while this might be enough now, you're going to want more tomorrow, aren't you? Maybe during the intermission? We'll only have fifteen minutes, but I'm sure you'd like it quick and—_ahh_—" His zealous harangue comes to an end as Jesse stills, his eyes tightly closed and his mouth a perfect _O_, and he comes, forcing himself so far into Blaine so that he'll be able to _feel _the copious warm flow trickle into him.

Jesse's hand doesn't stop, though; his strokes are quick, shallow, and uneven, and when Blaine feels Jesse's lips on the hollow of his neck, it is enough. Enough yet too much all at once; his orgasm is like an explosion, a moment he cannot imagine ever topping or even living past as he bites down on his lower lip, strings of milky fluid shooting into Jesse's hand.

Blaine doesn't realize that he's trembling, that his lower lip feels like it might be swollen, that his body is covered with a sheen of cool sweat, that he can feel his heart pounding in his neck and temples and even his hands that are still clutching Jesse's ass, and that Jesse is placing soft kisses to the side of his face until a couple of moments have passed. Blaine slowly glances up at Jesse, hoping that there is some kind of answer in his eyes, something to tell him that this all is okay—that it was what they _both _wanted—but Jesse just gives him a small nod before he pulls out languidly to clean up and put himself back together.

And Blaine supposes that he'll just have to live with that; he came into Jesse's dressing room with no expectations, and that's how he's going to have to leave. Maybe it's better that this is just a one-time thing. Maybe it'll make things less complicated between them. Blaine slides off the counter of the vanity and does a lack-luster job at cleaning himself off with a tissue before he pulls his clothes back on.

He turns to leave, and just as his fingers brush over the doorknob, he feels Jesse's hand grab his arm, holding him back.

"Don't leave yet," Jesse says, his voice soft, like a whisper, but not small.

Blaine turns around ready to ask why not, to ask what good would staying do, to ask if Jesse even wants him there or if it's just out of pity, but something stops him.

"For you," Jesse tells him with a smile, holding out a beautiful bouquet of a dozen red roses.


End file.
